


Three Tales of Heartache

by dandelionpower



Category: Being Human (UK), Poldark (TV 2015), Return to Treasure Island (TV 1996), The Almighty Johnsons, The Mortal Instruments (Movies), Young Hercules
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, M/M, break-ups
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-02-16
Packaged: 2019-03-19 12:58:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13704936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dandelionpower/pseuds/dandelionpower
Summary: "There are plenty of ways to die, but only love can kill and keep you alive to feel it."-Leo Christopher-A collection of three drabbles based on the prompt #102 :"Goodbyes" of the Winter Fandom Raffle Exchange





	1. Anders/Mitchell

 

Anders gets home late that morning, his clothes in disarray and his tie hanging loosely around his collar. Mitchell is waiting for him, eyebrows knitted in a dangerous frown, hunched on the couch like a tortured king about to pass a sentence.

He gives Anders a black look. “Where were you?”

Anders grimaces. “Ouch!” he complains. The throbbing in his head is a reminder of last night’s many abuses.  “Can you speak lower, please?”

“Where were you?” Mitchell repeats the question in the same exact tone.  

He is used to seeing Mitchell brood, but at this point, Anders can’t see yet what is about to happen. “I was at a party. There was this corporate thing and it finished late.”

“Late?” Mitchell sniggers without humor. “It’s nine in the morning, Anders…”

Anders tosses his jacket on a chair and moves across the living room, with the clear intent to sit on Mitchell’s lap. “Awww, you missed me? How cute!”

The Irishman, though, has no intention of letting this happen. He stands up and stops Anders from coming any closer by putting an unaffectionate hand inthe middle of his chest. He wrinkles his nose in disgust. “Who was it this time?”

Anders steps back, puzzled at first. It’s not the first time Mitchell has rejected his advances. He’s been angry enough before to do that, but this time, there is something different in his eyes. It’s not anger exactly, it’s something worse that Anders can’t quite put his finger on. “I don’t know what you mean,” Anders evades the question. “I need a shower.” He pulls his tie off. “Care to join me?” Anders walks to the bedroom to strip from his clothes but he stops when he notices the multiples bags and the suitcase on the bed. “What are all those bags for? Are you going somewhere?”

Mitchell gives no answer, but he follows Anders into the bedroom and confronts him again in the same manner. “You can lie to yourself if you want, but you can’t lie to my senses. Are you going to tell me who’s the person who rubbed that cheap perfume all over your chest?”

With a sigh of resignation, Anders throws his hands up in surrender. “Fine! I slept with some chick who was at the party! It’s no big deal!”

A flash of hurt crosses Mitchell’s face and Anders wishes he had lied instead.  “It is for me.”   

“Come on, Mitchell,” Anders tries to reason with him. “We were never what we can call “exclusive”! Exclusivity is for boring people. We’re not boring! We’re fun people!” He should have dragged his lover into the shower straight away when he arrived instead of engaging in that annoying conversation. Mitchell wouldn’t have even thought of questioning his lifestyle if Anders had dropped to his knees under the hot spray. He would have less fight in him, that’s for sure.

Mitchell steps to the bedroom door and seems to want to leave, but then he pauses in the doorframe. “Since we’ve moved in together, I have’t slept with anyone else than you,” he drops.

“You never told me that’s what you wanted,” Anders protests. “You can’t blame this on me. I’m not a mind-reader!”

“I thought it was implied, since we’re a couple who lives together,” Mitchell points out.   

It’s Anders’ turn to laugh with discomfort. This is the kind of discussion he loathes above all. He was wrong to think things were not going to get uselessly complicated if he invited Mitchell to move in with him. “What did you think? That you were going to _change_ me? I am what I am, Mitch. You knew it from the start. Take it or leave it.”  

“That’s what I’m doing. I’m leaving it.” Mitchell stomps to the bed, grabs his bags and drags his suitcase to the living room.

Anders chases after him. “Wait a minute! You’re not serious, are you? You’re going to leave me just because I banged some random chick? She didn’t mean anything to me, and I still came home to you!” Mitchell is overreacting. What Anders did never warranted such drastic measures. He tries to catch the Irishman’s eyes, but Mitchell refuses to even look at him. “That’s what you liked about me in the first place, isn’t it? The fact I’m a free spirit. You can’t cage a free spirit, Mitchell.”  

“I know full well _what_ you are like,” Mitchell hisses. “I know how you _act_ , but I also know that it’s not _who_ _you are_ deep down, very deep down, too deep down for me as it turns out. Maybe you have no problem dealing with the consequences of your own actions, but honestly, I do have a problem with the way you just can’t commit. It hurts me way more than I expected. This is why I can’t stay.”  

Anders realizes too late that this is no ordinary fit of temper. Mitchell is serious. “Baby,” Anders says, in a desperate attempt to coax him. “Come on. Think this over!”

This time, Mitchell looks back, but with an icy glare that makes Anders shudder.  

“I had the whole night to think this over.” He throws two of his bags on his shoulder and heads for the door, but when he opens it, Anders rushes forward and slams it closed, blocking the exit with his whole body and everything he has.

“Don’t go,” Anders pleads. He is way past trying to save his own pride now. “Let’s talk about it! I can change! I promise!”   

Mitchell somewhat softens and when he pushes Anders aside, he does it with a gentleness that makes the god panic even more.

The anger and disappointment on Mitchell’s face has made way for something else even more awful: sadness and pity. “Maybe you can change,” he says, “but I doubt you really want to.”  

Mitchell crosses the threshold, unopposed this time.

Anders is losing his grip; he has no leverage to convince his lover to stay. His heart rises in his throat. “You can’t get enough of me! You’ll be back!” He sounds pathetic, even to his own ears.   

Mitchell shakes his head.  “Not this time, Anders. I’m sorry.” And he disappears in the staircase without a look back.


	2. Ross/Jim

Jim threw another branch onto his campfire. Sparks flew and died on the humid wall of the cave.

He lifted his head and looked toward the entrance every now and then, but all he could hear outside were the waves crashing on Hendrawna beach.

He longed to see the head of curls tucked under the familiar tricorn. Being out at sea and separated from Ross for long periods of time was always painful, but now he was home, and he found comfort in the knowledge that his lover has been waiting for his return with the same impatience.  

His heart picked up speed when he thought he distinguished the tell-tale whooshing of a long coat in the wind and boots in the sand.

This time, the sounds were not the work of his imagination. He rushed to his feet in a hurry and dropped the branch he’d been using as a fire poker when a tall form emerged from the darkness.

“Ross,” Jim whispered, worried that speaking louder would make Ross dissipate into thin air like a smoke apparition. “I was worried you didn’t get my note and you’d not come,” he confessed, embracing the taller man with both arms.  _ He will not disappear _ , Jim thought, relieved,  _ he’s just as tangible, strong, and solid as ever _ . “I shouldn’t have doubted you. You always come.”

Ross was holding him tight and in silence, almost clinging, which was uncharacteristic, but Jim wasn’t going to complain. He’d missed him so much. “How long has it been?”

“Five months and sixteen days,” Ross answered, his voice gravelly and somewhat troubled.  

“Yes… it’s been too long…” Jim searched for the hazel gaze. Ross was smiling, his eyes sad.

They silenced their inner turmoil with a kiss, the first in months; both passionate and a tad desperate. Instead of appeasing Jim, the kiss wokea deeper fear in him. Something was amiss.

“Jim, I can’t stay for long,” Ross said when they parted. “I have to go home early.”

“Oh…” Jim had come to the cave with high expectations that deflated at once. He had also brought port wine from Spain: Ross’ favorite, and also some warm blankets.  “Will you come back tomorrow night then?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

Ross’ arms were still around him, but they felt stiff, like the bars of a cage.  “Why? What happened, Ross?”

“I’m getting married tomorrow morning.”

Jim stepped back. He felt unwelcomed in Ross’ proximity now. He had always told himself that when the time came that his lover would get married toa woman, he would accept it as an inevitable fact of life, but the announcement took him off guard. It stung… No, worse: it stabbed.  “This… this is quite unexpected.  Who’s the lucky lady?”

“Demelza.”

“Your servant girl?”

“Yes.”

Jim took his own hat off and for some absurd reason, had this sudden impulse to throw it into the flames. He resisted. “I see.”

“Listen, I don’t really have a choice. She is pregnant.” 

Why stab someone only once when you have the opportunity do it twice? “Are you the father?”

“Most likely.”  

“You’re doing the noble thing,” Jim reflected, “like you always do.” He wasn’t allowed to be jealous. One way or another, he would have had to share Ross with someone else at some point. “When are we going to see each other again? After the wedding, I suppose?”

“It wouldn’t be wise,” Ross stated. “I love you, I truly do and I probably always will, but … we can’t keep doing this. “

“What are you saying?”

Ross was trying to finish him off: kill him there, on the ground, like livestock. There was no other explanation.

“I’m saying that it’s time we stop meeting in secret. I can’t be married to Demelza and have an affair with someone else, even if that someone is you.”  

This was all very reasonable, but Jim was not ready to listen to reason. His feelings for Ross had never obeyed rationality anyway. “I always knew you were going to get married at some point, but I was hoping you’d still be there every time my ship comes to port, for us to share what we’ve been sharing for years now.”  

“You really thought me being married would not change anything between us?”

Ross was sorry for breaking his heart; Jim could tell. But it didn’t change anything. Jim had not waited in this cold cave for Ross’ empathy. What he wanted was Ross’ body and unconditional love. Nothing else would replace it. Everything had turned so horribly wrong.

“When you got engaged to Elizabeth, you were in my bed the next night,” Jim reminded him. Resentment was burning its way up from his stomach to his chest. “Your last night in Cornwall, before you left for the war: you spent it with me, not her!”

“And I don’t regret any of the nights I’ve had with you since,” Ross assured him. “But this was eight years ago! We’re older now… we have responsibilities…we…” He was at a loss of words.  

“You’re right. I’m sorry I had the audacity to think what we felt for each other was real.”  

“It is real!” Ross protested.  “Life just never grants every one of our wishes.”

“Was marrying Demelza one of your wishes? Answer me honestly,” Jim questioned. “Do you really love her?”  

Ross sighed. “We get along.”

“If that’s everything you want out of life, who am I to deprive you from that?”

The situation and the tough choice he was forced to make hurt Ross deeper than he would let appear. He murmured Jim’s name and reached for his hand; a tiny glimpse of the devastation inside.  

Jim didn’t let Ross touch him. “I think you should leave.” He wanted to turn away, but his body would not let him. He was going to look right in the face of his own ordeal until the end. “I wish you and your young bride much happiness together, Captain Poldark.”

“Thank you,” Ross said, his eyes casted down and lamblike. He dipped his hat at the man he had called “my love” for the last decade. “Good night, James.”

When the night captured and engulfed the tall silhouette in the long coat, Jim rested his back against the cave wall and let himself slide down to the ground.

A storm came to Nampara Cove that night. Underneath the noise of the tide smashing the rocks and the wind battling with the high cliffs, the weeping of an abandoned lover made no sound.


	3. Luke/Iolaus

Luke hates himself. This isn’t new. He’s hated himself ever since he had become a werewolf. And now that he really thinks about it, this grudge that he holds against himself might have been there from the beginning of his life.

He’s always hidden behind his glasses, his curls of hair, his baggy clothes. The main problem is that, this way, all he does is lock himself up… with him self: the absolute worst company.  _ You can’t outrun yourself and that’s the worst tragedy in life _ , he thought.

Tonight, more than ever, Luke loathes being himself. It’s not only the guilt – it’s the unfairness of what he’s about to do. It’s unfair to him, sure, but he can stand it. What he can’t abide is the hurt he’s about to cause to the pure, innocent and beautiful creature asleep in his arms.  

Iolaus adores him. He worships the ground Luke walks on. And earlier, Luke has succumbed to the young man’s charms again. This is no excuse, though. Sleeping with him once more was selfish and cruel. Just cruel. Iolaus is his greatest weakness, but tonight, Luke has to man up and stop being weak. He had failed already, if their discarded clothes scattered around the hotel room are any proof.

The young man stirs, waking from his short nap. He gives Luke a drowsy smile. Luke smiles back and, out of reflex, he tucks a golden strand of hair behind his lover’s ear. He regrets the gesture almost immediately.  

There is no good way to do it. If he delays it again, his resolve will falter and Iolaus will feel used.

“Iolaus, sweetheart,” Luke begins, trying to soften the blow, but it’s like putting bubble wrap around a baseball bat. “We’ve been doing this for a little while now, but … I don’t think it’s going to work.”  

Iolaus was in the middle of a yawn, but he freezes when his brain catches up towhat Luke had just said. “Sorry? I don’t understand… What’s not going to work?”

“Us. You and I,” Luke specifies, taking his arms from around Iolaus’ supple and warm form reluctantly.

“What did I do?”

“You didn’t do anything… It’s not you… it’s me. I know it sounds cliché, but it’s true.”

Luke has expected tears, but Iolaus’ eyelashes are dry and his eyes wide. He’s in shock. He has not seen it coming at all. Somehow, that makes it even harder. Distress would have been more bearable. Luke feels like he has to give some explanations at least.

“It was a mistake. We both knew it from the very start. “ Luke shifts on the bed, torn between his need to comfort Iolaus and the imperative to give him space to process everything. “You deserve better. You deserve something less… clandestine, perhaps with someone your own age,” he suggests.  

Iolaus jumps out of bed and he’s frantic; collecting his clothes around the room like he’s just been caught doing something immoral. “This is bullshit!”

“I know it’s hard for you to accept, but it’s true,” Luke says with remorse. “I’m more than twice your age. Soon enough I’ll be an old man whereas you’ll still be as beautiful and vivacious as you are right now. I don’t want you to waste the best years of your life on me. I can’t ask that of you.”

Iolaus’ eyes are misting with tears now. “If your age was ever an issue, I wouldn’t have gotten with you in the first place! I don’t care how old you are!” He dresses in a hurry, hiding from Luke the youthful body he should have never desired.

“It’s not only the age gap,” Luke protests, leaving the bed as well and grabbing his jeans. “You’re forgetting I’m a freaking werewolf!”

Iolaus takes a deep breath to steady himself and walks up to him. He’s adorable and it makes Luke’s heart ache in the most painful way. Tears are making his blue eyes shine brighter in the dim light of the vintage lamp. “You would never hurt me!” Iolaus reaches to touch Luke’s face. “You would never hurt me,” he repeats, softer.

Luke catches his wrist. “We don’t know that.”

“I’m willing to take the risk.”

He pulls Iolaus’ hand away from his face. “I’m sorry, but I’m not,” Luke says firmly. “I live in a complicated world; a dangerous one. If anything ever happened to you, I would not be able to live with that – with the knowledge that I could put your safety in jeopardy. I love you too much to stay with you.”

“You can’t do that to me!”  This time, Iolaus is crying for real, tears running down his smooth, beardless cheeks.

It’s tearing Luke’s heart apart. His lover is so young… and too vulnerable. It’s torture but at the same time, it comforts him in his decision.  “I don’t want to leave either, but I have to, and-”

They’re interrupted by knocks on their room’s door.

Alerted, Iolaus rubs the tears off his face with the back of his hand. “Who’s that?”

“It’s your friend Hercules,” Luke admits. He finishes getting dressed and retrieves his wallet from the bedside table. “I texted him from your phone while you were in the shower.”

“Why the hell did you do that?”  

“I didn’t want you to be alone.”

The play of muscle on his jaw line shows how hard Iolaus is gritting his teeth. “That’s so thoughtful of you.”

“Iolaus?” Hercules’ voice calls from the other side of the door. “Are you there?”

They don’t have much time left anymore and it’s already taking too long, Luke thinks. The longer he stays, the harder it will be to leave. “You’re angry with me now, but at some point, you’ll see it was for the best.”

“I very much doubt it.” Iolaus sits at the opposite side of the bed. The tears had dried, but he looks lost and tired. His world has just crumbled around him. “Hercules is going to see you walking out of here,” he murmurs. “He’s going to ask me all sorts of question.”

“You can tell him I’m an asshole. I deserve it.”

“No. I won’t say anything about what has been going on between us… I’ll make something up to explain why you’re here.”

“You don’t have to do that for my sake,” Luke says.

Iolaus lifts his head to look at him. “I’m not doing that for your sake. I’m doing it for mine. People already think I’m not very smart. I don’t want them to know just how naïve I am.”

Luke wants to tell him how untrue that affirmation is. He wants to tell him how inventive, shrewd and resourceful he is, but Luke has lost the right to console him; he has lost the right to be Iolaus’ solace. Every seconds more he spends in this room is just an insult. Luke has no choice but to head for the door, strangled with guilt and grief.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!! As always, I love reading your reviews. 
> 
> Big thanks to Mosslover for the last-minute betaing. :)


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